


Black Tie Affair #5

by somekindofseizure



Series: Black Tie Affair [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, Beach Sex, F/M, bond, sexy spies, spy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: Mulder and Scully go to the South of France while on the job as international spies.





	

****

Here, at the Hotel du Cap Something or Other, they were Mr. and Mrs Bond.  They’d fought about it the whole plane ride, engines and air conditioning a hollow orchestra to their bickering.  He would jibe at her until she raised her voice and then hush her, conducting her into a fit of irritation.

Her argument was that it made them stand out, that it would get them killed.  His was that the hotel staff were not their nemeses.  They wouldn’t be exchanging names and numbers with those guys at all.  The alias thing was merely protocol.

“Suppose we’re sitting out on the beach, whispering and plotting all suspiciously.  The cabana boy serves us and you sign the charge to the room.  Later, our friends ask him, ‘Who are those sneaky people with the mojitos?’ ‘Oh, that’s Mr. and Mrs. Bond.’”

“Is that what it’s like to be on vacation with Scully?  Whispering, plotting, and cabana boys?”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised you even have us out on the beach.  I thought we’d be chained to the room, praying and studying our lessons.”

“We could be having more fun than that in a room.” She gave him a half-smile and looked out the window.   

But whatever joie de vivre had inspired the remark was ephemeral.  By nightfall she was tucked safely – alone – on the couch, insisting on it as a means to prove she was not just being coy.  He wondered if she was pouting about losing the coin toss.  If she had gotten her druthers at the check-in desk, would Mrs. Sutter have gotten into bed with him?

She was gone when he woke up, to some local market, he figured.  He thought of her pawing through fresh peaches, their curves warm and soft from the shaded sun, a straw hat and dark glasses casting a crescent shadow over the fruit boxes as she haggled in broken French. Leave it to Scully to find time to soak up local flavor while on assignment to catch international crime bosses.

He came out the back entrance of the resort to find predictably striped umbrellas and lounge chairs, waiters scuttling drinks to shiny, tan people, just as Scully had predicted.  He sighed, berating himself for not knowing how to do vacation.  He had scolded Scully about fun, but at least she was out, at the market, or at the spa, or somewhere.  The only bathing suit he owned was the one he worked out in.  He looked around, wondering if the tight Speedo under his pants would be ostentatious outside a lap pool.  But everywhere he looked on this beach, there was skin.  He was safe.

He wove through chairs and stared at the Mediterranean, the upper edges of the water dazzling silver as a disco ball.  On one striped lounge chair was a straw hat and a pair of black glasses – the exact getup he’d imagined Scully in, and he stopped, pulled his t-shirt off and sat beside a thick book she’d apparently been reading.   The book was in French.  Maybe her haggling at the market wouldn’t have been so broken after all.

He settled his bottom into the hot fold of the chair, twisting awkwardly around back to fiddle with the height.  A cabana boy in a pink shirt rushed over and knelt to do it for him.

“Thanks.  Thank you,” Mulder said awkwardly.  He folded and unfolded his arms, wiggled his toes in the sunlight.  Mint wafted past him on a waiter’s tray. There were no sounds except the shifting of bodies in the chairs, the occasional slurp of citrus.  The pressure to feel pleasure was almost suffocating.

And then suddenly, it was not. There, peeling out of the water like a wet dream was Scully, hands over her face, elbows circling back over her head to rake her hair away.  

Her mouth was open, blowing sea water from the insides of her lips.  Her skin was bright white in the sun, almost fading into the haze like negative space above and below the tiny bits of her red string bikini.  Her knees pushed through dull bands of water, hips swaying as she pressed against clear sheets of sea water bubbling and pulling around her shins.  She squinted as she noticed him and reached for the strings at her hips, as if to make sure they were still there.  She seemed to belong so completely to this place, to this moment, that he wondered if this was not the real Scully, if the one he’d been dealing with all along was actually the cover.

She came to his side and smoothly smiled at a cabana boy as she accepted a towel.  Cold water dripped off the ends of her hair onto his body as she shook it and only then did it occur to him to stop staring at her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Watching, I mean, waiting for you.”

“No, I mean –“

Just then, a woman in a black caftan appeared behind Scully, towel under her arm, thick bun of hair on top of her head.  She excused herself in French and then English.  Mulder reflexively glanced at the book beside him.  He nodded apologetically and hopped to his feet, following Scully as she led him to another chair at the end of the row.

“I thought you had a hat like that,” he said by way of self-defense as she dabbed at her chest and arms. She sat back into her chair and motioned to the one next to her.

“We have to be able to whisper,” he said, pushing his closer to her.  She rolled her eyes and bent a leg up, putting on a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses.  

“Stop looking at me like that, Mulder,” she said without even seeming to clock him.

“It’s James.”

“Might as well call you Mr. Federal Agent.  We’re trying to blend.”

“You call that blending?”

“Yes, why?”  She looked around, upper lip twitching in annoyance.  Even in an outfit he could stuff into one sock, she was one of the more demurely dressed people here.  Half of the women were topless, the others in bathing suits with fringes, sequins, elaborate cutouts of skin peering through.

“I was just teasing,” he said, desperately anxious to prevent her from covering herself up, but she had not really paid him any mind.  She glanced down at his legs.  

“How ‘bout you?  Got a bathing suit under those… what are they, linen? Pants?”

“Yeah, I was actually going to do some laps.”

“Go ahead,” she said. With a sudden urge to make her as uncomfortable as he was, he stood, dropping the pants and laying them on the end of his chair.  He snapped the elastic of his red Speedo to make sure everything was in its place and looked up quickly, intentionally catching her, lips parted.

“We match,” she said, glasses tipped, eyes bluer than the bluest spot on the Cote D’Azur.

*

By the time Mulder had finished his laps, his mind was clear and his eyes burned raw.  He hadn’t brought any goggles.  A rookie vacation move.  He splashed his palms over the crests of water as he came toward the shore, pawing through it with heavy legs and fresh, expansive lungs.  Nothing made him feel like a good swim.  Sex with Scully was close, but it was always so rushed. There was never time to appreciate it, to lie beside her with oxygen racing through his blood and gauze over his eyes.  She was always just there for a moment and then gone.  And technically, she was never even there to begin with. Her alias was.

She was turning onto her belly as he approached and he wondered if she had watched him swim.  It had been no small inspiration as he crawled through the water to know she might be out there studying the sail of his shoulder blades, the whip of his neck.  He was a few feet away when she reached around her back and pulled the string in the middle of her spine.  He stopped cold, watching it fall open over the sides of her body. She had not even bothered to knot the thing.

As she reached to the table for her bottle of sunscreen, he sat on the edge of her chair, nudging her body over, and took the bottle from her.

“Allow me.”

Her arms were spread out in front of her in a wide diamond, breasts still cloaked by the loose material between her body and the striped chair.   She gasped suddenly and he realized he was dripping over her back.

“Sorry.”

“No, feels good.”

He warmed the lotion in his hands and spread it over her shoulders in slow circles.  You feel good, he thought. His jaw hung loosely on its hinge as the heel of his hand fell into to the slope of her lower back.  She fidgeted a little as he dipped the tips of his fingers under the waistline of her suit, carefully moving to the sides of her body where the strings were tied.

“Very burn-prone area.”

“How would you know?”

“Easy to miss.”

“Mmhm.  Bond misses nothing?”

He felt her settle, body relaxing and widening against his hip as he squirted more lotion into his hand. She must have felt him hover tentatively over her backside, because her muscles re-tensed.

“Did you get this part down here?”

“Yes,” she said quietly and he moved his hands back up toward her shoulders.  “But you can do it again.  Just to be safe.”

He started with the thigh closest to him, moving slowly and steadily down over her calf. When he traveled back up, he took a deep breath and moved to the soft skin of her inner leg. Her abductor muscles twitched to fill his hand and he longed to nudge them with his nose.  He slathered the lotion over the joint of her leg, using his thumb to rub it into the fleshy bottom of her ass while his fingers hooked over the front tendon along the edge of her bikini bottom.  She was warm there, hotter than the sand, and he longed to slip his finger inside the slightly gaped material to see if she was also as wet as the sea.  

His fingers trembled as he struggled like a teenager to make it appear an accident, wanting to give her the opportunity to stop him. She breathed hard in response – so hard that her crotch pressed into his knuckles on the exhale.  Encouraged, he grazed her more deliberately over the red fabric, staring at the back of her head for clues. Her chin dropped to her chest.

“Jesus,” she whispered. Good enough.  He crept one finger around the elastic -

“Sir?” Mulder nearly jumped. Her bathing suit snapped her skin where he let go and he saw her reach instinctively to her hip, as if for a weapon.

But it was just a well-meaning cabana boy offering a towel.  They already had several but Mulder knew what this one was for. He covered his lap and watched the guy go. Scully’s body jiggled against the chair in silent laughter and then she glanced over her shoulder at him with an evil, just-audible cackle. He grabbed her shoulders in both hands and shook her a little.

“You think it’s funny that I’m dying over here?”  Her laugh dropped lower into her throat.

“Well, why should I be the only one?”

He reached for the string around her neck, the only thing still holding her top to her body.

“Don’t,” she warned gamely as he held the end up.

“It’s a topless beach.”

“I don’t do topless beaches.”

“You don’t.  Mrs. Bond might.”

“Don’t,” she said, this time seeming to mean it.  He apologized, embarrassed, and began to rise, as if to move back to his own chair. But she grabbed his wrist, bringing it to her face, and he sat back down.  She curled her face around his hand, hoarding and studying his fingers like foreign objects.  

“Want to go back to the room?” he asked as she kissed each of his fingernails.

“In the room, we’re not other people.”  He sighed, tired of the requirements, tired of needing the thick layer of pretense to have her the way he wanted.

“Shit,” he said.

“You’re right, this is crazy.  You should move,” she said, her back muscles tightening like a coil.

“No.  I mean, don’t look.  But that woman, the one whose chair I was on earlier, she’s our guy.  I mean girl.  I mean lady.”

“Aren’t we looking for a man?”

“We are.  She’s with him.”

He braced his body over her like guard dog, both hands on the chair.

“To my right?”

“Yes, don’t turn.”

“Kiss me here,” she said, cocking her ear toward her left shoulder.  He leaned in and placed his face there. She fake-giggled and rolled her head to get a better look, seeming not to notice him as he licked and swallowed the drips of salty-sweet sweat and sunblock, little Riviera-flavored pools of Scully.  His nosed chased the scent of her hair, burying itself in damp, thick strands. All these people thought they were in paradise, but they were wrong. They did not have their faces burrowed into his partner's neck.  

“They’re paying the bill,” she said, slightly more coherent than he would have liked with his tongue in her ear.  “They might be onto us.”

“I don’t care,” he said.

“We should follow them,” she said, squeezing his face out from its nook with her head.  She looked over her shoulder at him.  The freckles she normally covered up were gold in the light, her lips as red as her bikini with sun-chap.

“If they’re onto us, they’re expecting us to follow them,” he tried and he watched her picture them getting dressed down by their new boss.  “What better cover than to ignore them and stay right here?”

He could see the uncertainty in her eyes but could also feel the sureness evaporating up off her skin, rising like storm air out of the valley of her shoulder blades.  He brought his legs up onto the chair, sliding his body longways against hers, propping himself on his side.  He adjusted the towel over the spot where his spandexed erection met her waist, growing harder as she leaned into him.

“We already know they have dinner plans in the ballroom later.  I guess we could get them there,” she said.

“Now they’re going to pass us,” he warned.  She reached up for his neck, upper body opening slightly towards him, bikini top dangling dutifully in place against all odds.  She brought his lips to hers with the swiftness he’d come to recognize as Spy Scully.  Quick we’re going to get caught Scully.  This is the moment I won’t feel guilty Scully.  Fancy cocktail Scully.  She slid her warm, mojitoed tongue into his mouth and lapped there like a low tide.  He let her explore him, her tongue culling his teeth like so many smooth sea shells.   She looked up when she was done.

“Gone?”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath and reached for her drink.  He took advantage of her fidgeting to slide his bottom arm underneath the hot faucet drip of her navel. He brought his free hand to her back, spread his fingers from her tailbone to her ribs.

She bit the straw as she sipped, then held it to his lips.  The sun-fermented alcohol stung his sinuses.

“Such a delicate touch,” she said as his thumb swirled circles around her spine.  He wondered if she knew the movies as well as he did, or if she’d simply been researching for their little game.  

“Sheer magnetism, my darling." It was a line but also true. He could not resist her.

As if to reward him for the compliment, or maybe for making it this long, she placed the drink down, reached behind her neck and pulled the string.  With a light tug and a bit of resistance from the weight of her breasts, she dragged the bikini top up and laid it on the chair beside her. His eyes traveled down her back, studying the pale, firm sides of her tits now pressed into the cotton twill of the chair.  He wondered how exactly he would be able to refrain from fucking her in front of the Mediterranean Sea’s richest patrons.

“Is this what it’s like being on vacation with Scully?  Or Mrs. Bond?”

There was the other half of the smile she gave him on the plane. She lifted her belly and he reached upward, tracing the underside of her breast, pinching her nipple.  Though she closed her eyes for a moment and smiled, he realized she meant the other direction.  When his fingers entered the top of her bathing suit, he paused.

“Guess you’ll never know,” she said, her voice cracking with a near squeal as he slipped inside her. She dropped her hips back down to the chair, beginning to pulse invisibly against his palm. In the distance, a French love song piped from the hotel restaurant and Mulder wondered if there would be dancing at dinner.

“Want to go back to the room?” he asked once again as she laid her cheek against the hot cushion and closed her eyes.

“Never.”


End file.
